


Release

by hatebeat



Series: Putting the gears in motion [14]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatebeat/pseuds/hatebeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>October, 1985. Donny gets out of jail and Pickles has choices to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> You should read [Shit Happens](http://archiveofourown.org/works/863770?view_full_work=true) if you want context for this story.

Cigarette hanging from his lips, Pickles sat against the wall next to the refrigerator, scratching out lyrics and plugging new ones in underneath the notes on the sheet paper, notes drawn in much neater hand than Pickles could ever muster. Especially with his hands shaking from the uppers he'd popped-- what, four, five hours ago? In combination with the booze he'd poured into his guts all through the night with Tony, they left him feeling like he had a scared little bird in his chest, fluttering to break free of his ribcage. But he just had to get this song out of him while it was still in his head.

He glanced briefly across the efficiency where Tony was sprawled over the bed, snoring softly. Pickles hadn't even looked up in what seemed like hours; the sun was up, now, and filling the apartment with late morning light. Momentarily, he was distracted by all of it, just the scene before him, taking in every detail, but ashes from his cigarette fell down onto the paper and it brought him back to what he was doing. 

He flicked his cigarette in the ash tray and took a long drag, scanning what he had written so far, and then put his pen back to the paper. 

There was no telling how much time had passed when a sound startled him out of concentration. It took a moment to recognise it as the phone, but his heart was pounding so quickly for a second that he was frozen by it. But he managed to drop his cigarette in the ash tray and get out from under his guitar and pad of sheet paper to get up and answer it. Keep it from waking Tony up.

"Hello?" he said into the receiver, cradling the phone to his face with his shoulder as he lit another cigarette, his shaking hands making it hard to spark the lighter.

"Hey, kiddo. It's me."

A smile spread over Pickles' lips, around the cigarette. He leaned back against the counter, idly wrapping his hand up in the phone cord. 

"Donny. Hey. How's it going?"

"Not too bad," Donny told him. Pickles didn't understand how being in prison could ever be 'not too bad', but maybe by this point, he'd gotten used to it. "Tomorrow's the big day."

Pickles stayed quiet for a moment. The big day? He wracked his brain, trying to figure out what the appropriate response to that was, but he didn't know what Donny was talking about.

"What's tomorrow?" he asked slowly, like it might come to him if he was careful enough, but...

There was a pause while Donny said nothing, but then a soft laugh. "Maybe you were too drunk when I told you. Didn't I tell you to be more careful, kid? 

"Anyway, I'm getting out tomorrow..."

Pickles' heart spiked and there was a lump in his throat. Shit, that was tomorrow? How could he have forgotten that? That was the most important thing he'd ever heard in his life.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah. You comin' to get me, or what?" Donny asked, humour in his tone, but this was serious. Pickles had to go get him, was responsible for him. That was their agreement all along. He went off to be some rock 'n' roll star while Donny was in jail so that he could take care of Donny when he got out, just like Donny had taken care of him.

Trouble was, he wasn't that much of a rock 'n' roll star yet...

"'Course I am," Pickles said easily. But he needed to do things, needed to get a plane ticket, needed...

"Yeah? 'Cause you haven't given this any thought at all," Donny sounded less amused, and even if he wasn't pissed off, Pickles knew he deserved for him to be. "What's your schedule, kid? If you can't make it right away, I get it. You gotta keep this in perspective. Music first. Right?"

Pickles was quiet. They had a huge gig in a couple days, the most important one of their lives. There was supposed to be preparations, rehearsal... It was their first gig out of state, in fucking Las Vegas of all places, and there was talk of a TV appearance in the works if the label liked what they saw and the numbers were good.

"Fuck that," Pickles told him, startling himself with the aggression in his voice. "I'll be there."

Donny chuckled, but it sounded kind of sad. Pickles didn't really get it. He wrapped the cord more tightly around his hand, just kind of stuck doing it, focusing on it. 

"Alright, kid. I'm set to be released at three pm. I'll see you tomorrow then, okay?"

"Okay," Pickles said, staring down at his fingers, starting to turn red from the lack of blood flow. "Okay. I'll be there. I have to do some stuff, you know, but I'll be there. So uh, hang in there, right?"

"Right," Donny agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow, kid."

It wasn't until Pickles hung up the phone that he realised Donny didn't fully believe him.

There were a few moments after that where Pickles had no idea what to do. He felt panicked, lost, like a stupid, confused kid, and it was always at times like that when he felt like he needed Donny most. Because Donny always knew what to do. But the tables were turned now, and he'd been away from Donny for a year and a half. He'd been in LA for a long time, had new friends, his bandmates. He had Tony.

So he went into autopilot. He looked up a phone number and made a call. Had to get plane tickets. He hadn't thought about it before he called the airline, but he probably could have gotten the manager to do that, or something. The guy had only been representing them for a little while, though, and Pickles wasn't entirely sure what kind of things were okay to leave to him.

He reserved a ticket to fly out the next morning, and the short notice cost him an arm and a leg, but it didn't matter. It was worth it. He had to go get Donny, and nothing else mattered besides that.

Pickles went over to the closet, pulled out his duffel bag and tossed it on the bed, halfway atop Tony's leg. He wouldn't be gone too long so it wasn't like he needed a hell of a lot, but it didn't feel right to go empty handed, something like that. He started to toss things into it. Some clean underwear, a pair of jeans. He ducked into the bathroom for a second to grab his shampoo, and when he tossed it into the duffel, he noticed Tony was blinking bleary-eyed at him.

"Mornin'," Pickles said to him, scanning the room for whatever else he might need. 

"Time is it?" Tony complained, throwing an arm over his face, shielding a pair of hungover eyes from the pain of the sunlight.

Pickles glanced at the clock. "Eleven twenty three." He dropped a book into the duffel bag. He wasn't going to read it, but maybe he'd get bored on the plane or something. 

Tony grunted and rolled over, squinting at Pickles out of one eye. "Where you goin'?"

"Tomahawk," Pickles said simply.

Tony closed his eyes, and didn't say anything for a moment, like he was trying to decide what to say. "We gotta go to Vegas."

"I'll be back in time," Pickles told him.

"We have rehearsal tonight," Tony said, pulling the blanket over his face. "I think. Today's Sunday...?"

Pickles was at a loss about what else to throw in his bag, so he tossed it onto the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, but his heart was racing so fast, he wasn't sure he could stay sitting for long. "Monday. I think. But rehearsal's tonight, yeah."

"Can't rehearse without you. You're the singer. You gotta play the guitar."

"I'll be at rehearsal tonight," Pickles said, and then he stretched out, laying down alongside Tony. His body was exhausted, he realised. But there was no way his heart would let him fall asleep.

\---

Pickles took enough smoke breaks during rehearsal that evening that the guys got annoyed with him, but they could smoke while playing! It wasn't his fuckin' fault he had to use his voice _and_ his hands all the time.

"We don't have time for this," Bullets muttered in frustration, glaring at Pickles leaning against the wall, lighter perched at the tip of his cigarette. 

"Yeah, man, don't you realise that this is the biggest gig of our life? We gotta practice!" Sammy insisted, tapping the tip of a drumstick impatiently against his thigh. 

Pickles said nothing, just finished lighting his cigarette and stuff the lighter back in his pocket. He was terrified, to be honest. Terrified and exhausted. Yeah, he'd been talking to Donny all this time for the past year and half. Talking to him from a distance, talking to him over the phone.

Pickles had changed a lot in the past year and a half, though. He was a different person than the scared and confused kid that Donny had walked out on one evening to go sell some E and had never come back home to.

He leaned against the wall, taking his time pulling at the cigarette while his bandmates' irritation toward him grew. Tony, who hadn't said a word, came over to him, and it was then that Pickles realised that even Tony, Tony who was his foundation, was a little irritated at him, too.

But Tony just put his hand on Pickles' cheek, looked him in the eye, and gave him a look.

"C'mon, man. We have a rehearsal to do," Tony said gently, not even a hint of irritation in his voice.

Pickles stubbed out his cigarette on the wall and dropped it on the floor, slinging his guitar back over his shoulder. It was easier not to worry about Donny when he was thinking about the music, anyway. Even if that did make him feel guilty.

 

It was past one in the morning when the rehearsal finally ended. Pickles slammed the lid of his guitar case and slung it over his shoulder, ready to walk out without a word. The rehearsal was stressful; all of them were tense about the upcoming performance. It meant a lot for them, for their future as a band. 

If they fucked this up, they might be done for. And as the frontman, Pickles was shouldering most of the pressure.

Just as he was about to walk out the door, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Tell 'em. I'm not tellin' 'em for you."

Pickles face twisted up into a scowl and wrenched his shoulder away from Tony's grip. 

"Tell us what?" Sammy asked, a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice. 

"I'm goin' outta town for a few days. Got, uh, something important goin' on."

"What about the show?" Bullets asked levelly.

"What about it?" Pickles asked, getting defensive. "I'll be back in time."

"But we have to practice. We have things to do," Bullets insisted. "I think you need to rethink this little trip of yours."

"Well, I ain't gonna."

"Isn't the band important to you?" Sammy asked, and Pickles hated the way he sounded when has asked that, because he god damn _knew_ it was! It was everything to him!

"Shut the hell up, Sammy. I gotta go," Pickles told him, shifting his guitar on his shoulder. "This should be important to you, too."

"Why?"

He turned away from them, turning to leave again.

"Donny's getting out of jail tomorrow. He's your friend, too, right? You should understand the most."

Without Donny, Pickles never would never have joined Snakes N Barrels. He never would have made it to LA. He never would have met Sammy. He never would have even graduated high school.

He owed Donny at least this much.

He owed Donny a hell of a lot more.

\---

Despite the excitement that had been pounding through his veins from the thought of being reunited with Donny, Pickles felt himself swept away by a wave of anxiety when he stepped into the Central Wisconsin Airport. He hadn't been to the Midwest in a year and a half, almost. By now, he'd almost succeeded in forgetting the person he'd once been.

He stepped out of the airport and the cold of Wausau hit him in the face. Everything was different here- the trees, the sky, the fact that it was overcast and always fucking was. He hated it, hated the reminder, and he wanted to balk and run. But he wanted to run with Donny.

Well, that had been the plan all along...

He got a cab to Lincoln County Jail, and he was going to be there early as fuck. Three pm, Donny had said? He should have taken a bus. They were trying to save money, all of them. The band. But fuck that. He was a rock star now. He wasn't going to take the bus like some regular jack off from fucking Wisconsin. He was better than that now.

When he got to the jail, he realised he didn't really know what to do. He was two hours early, and going to pick someone up from jail wasn't really a thing he'd ever had to deal with before. So he sat outside on the curb for a while, smoking cigarette after cigarette. A security officer came by to hassle him after about twenty minutes, but Pickles just told him he was waiting.

He'd spent enough weekends here visiting Donny that he knew what was going on around here.

Three o'clock finally drew nearer, though, and by the time it was ten 'til, Pickles was scared as shit. He didn't know what to expect from the release, sure, but he also didn't know what to expect from Donny. He didn't know anymore what Donny would think of him.

He flicked his last cigarette into the parking lot, gathered his strength and his bag and went inside.

They took his ID, and Pickles noted with a little smile that it had a different name on it than last time he had been to this fuckin' prison. They searched him, then led him to an area to wait, somewhere he'd never been before despite having come here at least once a week at one point in his life. It all seemed so fucking far away.

Donny had been so fucking far away all this time.

After that, there was some more waiting. There were a few other people there who were picking up inmates, but Pickles mostly ignored them, struck suddenly by how different he had become from all these regular people. He stood out amongst them, there was no denying that. 

Good.

Yet when guards started to bring out the inmates to be released, Pickles' throat constricted in fear. He was so different, would Donny still like him the way he was now? He had to, right? But he didn't have that long to think about it, because he was suddenly locking eyes with Donny, suddenly in _the same room_ as Donny, and Donny's face lit up into one of the biggest grins Pickles had ever seen, and he immediately know that it was okay, that Donny would still like him just fine, no matter how different he was now.

He didn't wait to hear the spiel they were going to give, didn't wait for or care about jack shit. He threw his arms around Donny right then and there and Donny' arms locked around his waist. Pickles buried his face in Donny's neck, barely able to believe that was happening, and he felt Donny's lips touch the side of his head.

"Dude... you got no idea how much I've fuckin' missed you," Pickles breathed. Donny's fingers were combing through his hair, and the jail guys were saying some shit, but Pickles didn't care about anyone but Donny.

"Your hair's gotten long, kid..." Donny murmured, and Pickles pulled back a bit so that he could look him over, really look at his face. It had been so fucking long. Donny was thinner, his face had lines that Pickles didn't remember being there before. But he was still the same old Donny.

"C'mon, dude. I'm gonna get you the fuck out of this jail."

\---

Donny watched helplessly as Pickles forked over a wad of cash to the taxi driver outside of the hotel. It was his job to take care of the kid, not the other way around, so he kind of hated this feeling. But it was only temporary.

He knew this kid still needed a hell of a lot of care. He'd known that from their phone calls, but seeing him in person again...

Donny was more worried about him than ever.

"...I'll get us a couple a plane tickets for the morning, you know, head on back to LA- dude, there so much shit I can't wait to show you, LA is the fuckin' real deal. Got a lot of shit to do when we get back, though, you know? Big gig comin' up, all that shit..."

They picked up room keys from the front desk and headed to the elevator.

"Tony'n I are still just livin' in the little studio an' all right now, rent is astronomical in LA, you know?" Pickles jammed the button of the elevator and they started to soar upward toward their floor. "But we'll figure something out. Might be cramped at first, but it's better'n jail, huh? But if shit goes well... Well, can't say a lot about it, don't wanna jinx it or nothin' but-"

"Pickles," Donny interrupted when Pickles shoved open the door to their room.

"Yeah?"

"How are you really doing, uh, financially?" The deal had always been that Pickles would help him out when he got out of jail, because Donny had helped him out. Donny had taken him in, Donny had left him all of his shit and all of his cash. So Pickles would have his back when he got out because by then, Pickles would be a big rock 'n' roll star.

But Pickles hadn't made it big, yet. His band was doing pretty well- signed and all, and so fast! Donny was proud as fuck- but they weren't stars. Not yet. They were still struggling.

"Eh... You know, could be better... Probably gettin' better soon. If the label likes what they see from this gig in Vegas, we're supposed to go on tv and shit, gonna get a lot of exposure and all."

Pickles sat down on the bed and opened his bag. He pulled out the booze he had picked up on the way to the hotel, and damn was Donny looking forward to having his first drink in eighteen months. Pickles had already taken several shots in the back of the cab.

"I got it, though, don't worry. I mean, I promised I had your back when you got out, right? So leave it to me."

Donny wasn't convinced about that. But he was realising damn fast that there was something else he'd been denied the past eighteen months that he wanted a lot more than booze.

Donny touched Pickles' chin, tilting it up to look over his face, and then leaned down to press his lips to Pickles'.

"Hey kid? Stop talkin' for a minute," Donny murmured against his lips, and with a hand on his chest, pushed Pickles down onto the bed, climbing atop him. 

"Yessir," Pickles said with a smirk, his hands already working at yanking Donny's shirt up his chest, and together they got it over his head. "You got a new tattoo."

"Yeah, stuck me with a guitar string... pretty cool, huh?" Donny grinned, but while Pickles was admiring the tattoo, his hands wandered down to Pickles' hips, fingers prying at the tight jeans clinging to his skin.

"That's kinda hot," Pickles admitted, running his fingers over the ink as Donny ran his fingers over Pickles' cock.

"I fucking missed you, kid," Donny admitted, the first time he'd let himself actually say that. The whole time he was in prison, even though he was the one who was locked up, he wouldn't let himself admit it. He wanted to stay strong for Pickles. Donny could handle this shit, could handle himself. Pickles needed a little bit of help sometimes. But now, now that they were back together, it was okay to admit it.

Donny gave Pickles' jeans an extra little tug, enough to get his whole cock out and in hand, and Donny kissed down Pickles' abdomen, his tongue leaving a hot, wet trail. He nipped at Pickles' hip bone, making the kid squirm, and Pickles ran a hand roughly back through his hair, looking down at him, eyes full of desire.

He started from Pickles' balls and worked his way up, and the moment his mouth, his hot breath, was touching Pickles there, Pickles let out a groan that was like fucking music to his ears. When he closed down over his head, Pickles bucked upward, fingers tightening in his hair, and he fucked Donny's mouth gently, Donny taking it all in stride. 

He kept it up until Pickles' chest was heaving in pleasure, and then pulled off, taking a moment just to look up into Pickles' eyes, Pickles looking down at him, desperate. He savoured it.

"C'mon dude, you gotta fuck me," Pickles begged him, finally.

"Hope you brought some KY, kid," Donny teased. 

Pickles laughed, light and breathy, and gave Donny a little shove by his head. He leaned off the edge of the bed, reaching for his bag, and Donny grabbed Pickles jeans by the thighs and pulled them off him while Pickles rifled through his belongings. Pickles threw a tube at him, and while Donny pulled off his own pants, Pickles took another quick shot.

He didn't waste time fucking around. Pickles' was hanging half off the bed, but his bare ass was there, and Donny opened the lube and got to work. It was different, it was all a lot different than it had been before. Back then, Pickles had still been adjusting to having sex with a guy.

Being in LA with his new band and all had changed that, he knew.

Donny laid back, pulling Pickles by the wrist. "C'mere."

A smirk on his lips, Pickles scooted over and straddled Donny's hips, looking like such damn a hotshot with that long hair. He wasn't just some teenager anymore, but he was still just a damn kid who needed Donny.

"I missed ya, too, you know?" Pickles told him, sliding back so that his ass rubbed over Donny's cock. 

"I know." Donny pulled him down by that hair and kissed him, fiercely, scooting his hips so that his cock was touching Pickles' ass, and Pickles spread his legs a little further, taking Donny's cock in hand. He was sliding into Pickles, slow, and it was like coming home.

He never wanted to part with this kid again.

Pickles rode him, taking it nice and easy, and Donny lazily thrust into him like they had their whole lives ahead of them. They had all night, at least. But his hunger for Pickles grew, and his nails raked down his back, and Pickles cock was hard, dripping from the tip. Donny needed more.

He pushed Pickles off, and Pickles turned over for him on his knees, and behind him, Donny pushed back into him, pushing him down between his shoulderblades, and Pickles moaned like he'd never been fucked so good in his life. Maybe it was true. Grabbing onto his hips and digging in, Donny pounded him and Pickles' fingers bunched up the blanket.

Donny was going to come, though. He hadn't gotten laid since the day before he got arrested, and it felt like it had been a million years. His fingers were definitely bruising Pickles' bony hips, but he just gave it that much harder, until he was moaning and panting and he knew he was already spiraling out of control. He groped around to grab at Pickles' cock, wanting to last for him.

"Come for me," Pickles encouraged him, though, and that was it, that was all he could handle doing. Donny came inside of him, and Pickles pushed back against him, getting it all in there nice and deep, and Donny could do nothing for a second but try to breath.

He leaned forward against Pickles, not pulling out, and he stroked at Pickles' cock, only to find that he was only half hard.

"Don't worry 'bout me, dude," Pickles panted, collapsing forward onto his chest, his legs sliding down flat to the mattress, forcing Donny to slip out from him. "I'm good. Don't worry."

With a sigh, Donny rolled over to Pickles' side, still laying partially on to of him, and pulled the kid tight against his body.

"I love you, kid."

\---

The next morning, Donny woke up to find his arms empty, and he rolled over a bit, feeling blindly for Pickles. The bed was just as empty as his arms. He cracked his eyes open only to find Pickles across the room at the little table by the window. He opened his mouth to say something when he realised what was going on. Pickles was snorting something off the table.

Donny shut his mouth, because there was nothing he could say. Yeah, he told Pickles not to be stupid, but it was his fault the kid ever started using drugs in the first place.

So Donny rolled over, pretending he'd seen nothing, and tried to force himself back to sleep.

\---

Pickles stood outside smoking in the late morning, leaning against the rail outside their door. The air was cold, he could tell by feeling it on his skin, but he was warm all over. Donny was still sleeping and he was wide awake, jittery, and he didn't have his guitar with him, so he wasn't sure what else to do with his hands but keep a cigarette in them. He'd called the airline already and set up a flight for them to get home and he took a shower. Maybe he should call room service, get Donny something to eat? There was no way in the hell he could eat right now, but Donny was clean now, or whatever. He'd be hungry. 

Lost in his own mind, he nearly jumped out of his skin when the door behind him opened up.

Donny came up behind him, wearing nothing but his jeans, and slipped his arms around Pickles waist. He kissed his ear, then his cheek, even though people could potentially see them. Whatever. Wasn't Pickles' problem.

"Morning," Donny said.

"Hey. I set shit up with the airline and stuff, you know? So we'll be able to go home soon. And you can meet the guys. You know, not Sammy an' all, but the rest of 'em."

There was silence for a moment. And then Donny sighed.

"What?" Pickles asked.

"I'm not gonna go with you, kid," Donny admitted, sounding pained. Pickles turned in his arms, pushing him back, anger and concern both fighting inside of him over which should dominate.

"What the hell are you talkin' about? Where are you gonna go?"

"I don't know yet. I'll... get a place. Alright? But I need to get back on my feet," Donny said. "On my own."

"But _why?!_ I've been without you all this time- didn't you miss me, didn't you? Like I missed _you?_ "

Donny reached out and put his hand on Pickles' shoulder, and that was when Pickles' broke inside, when his heart cracked wide open. That was the moment he understood- Donny really _wasn't_ going to come with him.

"Why?" he asked, his voice softening. "What... I'm supposed to take care'a you, supposed to, yanno, pay you back for all that shit you did for me, how'm I supposed to do that if you're gonna just _stay here_? That's... it's too far, dude!"

"You haven't thought this through at all, have you?" Donny asked him, suddenly fierce, like something blew up inside of him. "You think you can just take me away to LA, and then what? You live in a shitty little studio with your bassist, sharing a bed with him. Where did you expect to put me?"

"We'll work something out!" Pickles insisted. 

"The cost of living out there's too high for me to get my own place, now, and too much for you to support me. Look at you, you're barely takin' care of yourself, kid. You gotta think these things through, kid!

"Your music is what's important. I wanna see you succeed. I want you to get to the fuckin' top, and you're not going to do that by worrying about me."

"I don't want to be that far away from you, dude. That's all." Pickles pressed his lips together, and looked down at his feet. "I hate it. It's been hell, not bein' able to see you. Just talkin' to you on the phone. Hell, dude."

"I'll come out to LA, Pickles. I will. But not yet. Give it a little time, and I promise, we'll be back together again. But I gotta put my life back together. On my own. Prison..." he laughed, self-deprecating, "It's shit, dude. I didn't tell you about it 'cause I didn't want you to worry about me, but fuck. I gotta... do something for myself. I gotta pick up the pieces by myself, not follow you around and ride on your coattails."

Pickles didn't know what to do. He felt like shit was falling to pieces all around him, like he was standing in a building and watching everything burn. He didn't know what to do. Donny was going to stay far away from him- was _choosing_ to.

"You got nothing right now, Donny. Lemme help you out." Pickles' hand went to Donny's hip, caressing, almost timid. "Even if you're staying here. What can I do? You fuckin' saved my life, lemme do _something_ for you."

Donny was quiet for a moment, and then he leaned and kissed Pickles' lips, but Pickles turned his head away.

"I need enough for a couple months worth of rent. To get a roof over my head. Nothing fancy. I'll get a job, I'll get my shit together, kid."

"Okay," Pickles said, fumbling to light another cigarette. 

"We'll be back together before you know it. I promise."

Pickles didn't know if he could trust that promise, and the thought that he couldn't trust Donny made him start to really feel the cold air around him.

\---

Pickles felt dead and numb inside as he unlocked the door to his shitty little apartment. He didn't expect Tony to be there. Tony didn't hang out alone too often, but there he was, eating a bowl of spaghetti and leaning against the headboard. His bass was laying across the bed as if he was trying to get some work done at some point, but he'd long given up.

"Hey," Pickles said simply, and dropped his bag on the floor.

"Welcome back," Tony said. "Want some pasta?"

"Got anything stronger?" Pickles asked, scooting onto the bed next to him, being careful no to knock the bass off the edge. It was close.

Tony considered that, though, and handed Pickles his bowl to hang onto. "Got just what you need, man," he said, and reached to dig something out from the drawer of the crappy little table that served as a nightstand.

Pickles glanced around the apartment. Donny was right; he wouldn't have been able to fit in here. But if Donny were here, he'd be telling Pickles that he shouldn't get high. They had to fly to Vegas first thing in the morning.

But Pickles was going to do it anyway, so maybe it was for the best that Donny wasn't here. Maybe, truthfully, Tony was the best he could do.

\---

The band got to Las Vegas around nine am the next day, and besides Sammy, all of them were hungover and feeling like shit. The manager lectured them about how important this was, and they all knew it. They all cared. But it wasn't just the drugs and booze, in Pickles' case.

Even if he had been totally sober, he wouldn't have been on top of his game. 

All this time, he'd been looking forward to having Donny back in his life. Waking up with him, fooling around with him, sharing his life with him. It had been his goal. Getting Donny back was the milestone he'd been reaching for for what seemed like an eternity. But Donny was free, and Donny was across the country, so Pickles felt lost.

There was a lot of work to do before their gig, and although they had a lot more help than before they were signed, they still had to do a significant amount of it himself, and Pickles wasn't into it. He snuck shots whenever he could to pass the time, and when evening rolled around, his spirits were low, but his energy grew when he saw how many fans were waiting for them, and when he walked out on stage, he realised: this had to be perfect. He had to do this for Donny.

Everything up until this point had been for Donny, and even though Donny wasn't here, this wasn't much different. So he sang his fucking heart out, and he played his guitar straight from the pit of his soul. And when the show was over, reps from the label were talking to the manager. There was a handshake, there was a deal in the works, and everyone was happy. Everyone wanted to celebrate.

Pickles wanted to celebrate, too. And he would. But inside, part of him still just felt dead.


End file.
